


All I See Is You

by RebelGeneral



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: F/M, my take on what went on in anthony's mind when his mother showed him the tulip embroidery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29841858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelGeneral/pseuds/RebelGeneral
Summary: Tulips symbolize passion. And there was only one woman who had ever inspired such in him.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Siena Rosso
Kudos: 7





	All I See Is You

_“Tulips. They symbolize passion... Perhaps your bride would like the same.”_

And there it is.

That sting he’s come to expect every time his mother, ever so casually, decided to bring up the prospect of his marriage. He is very much aware she knows the displeasure it brings him. What motivations could she possibly have that justified torturing him so? Perhaps she believes that one day her remarks might turn him around and he would finally listen to sense. Or maybe it’s her cruel reminder of _who_ can never be his no matter how much he wishes. The fact that she refuses to even mention Siena’s name is enough evidence that she would never even consider her as his choice. And lastly, perhaps she enjoys torturing him so, showing him her tulip design in jest, as if the constant turmoil in his heart and soul was a thing of mockery.

It was sickening.

He may be the firstborn in a lineage of firstborns. The Viscount. Eldest brother to all his siblings. The man of the house. Leader of their estate and all their well beings. But in the middle of it all, he suspected his mother had forgotten he, too, was her son first and everything else second. He had already lost his father and with every passing moment since that unfortunate day, he feared he had lost his mother as well.

_Goodnight, Mother_.

He could not stand there a moment longer listening to her planning things for his bride when she had never bothered to ask him about Siena. She wanted to aid him in his pursuit of love only if the object of his affection was someone she approved of. What he held in his heart now was immaterial to her. So it was best to leave lest he say something he would regret later.

As most nights, it took him a long time to finally fall asleep. It had been getting harder and harder to find that sense of serenity since he had asked Siena to leave his side. That regret combined with his mother’s biting remarks left a mark on him. Alcohol helped matters. And he was glad he had taken its much needed aid tonight.

_He knew it wasn’t real the moment he saw it. The moment he saw her. But that didn’t matter. Till his dying day, it would still be the most beautiful thing reality or mind had ever conjured up for his sake._

_She was sitting where his mother had been sitting not an hour ago. Her dress was a subtle cream color with the hem and bodice layered with maroon and purple tulips, similar to the ones his mother had shown him. Soft, red lips parted as she smiled at him. Her lush brown curls were partly open, delicately framing her face and slightly bouncing with every movement of her head. Around her neck he could see the choker he was so fond of, except instead of a rose, now a red tulip rested in its middle._

_He could feel himself staring as she looked back at him knowingly._

_His mouth went dry and he tried to speak, but no sound came out. After what felt like forever she touched his hand as if placing a precious thing in his palm and when he looked down it was the hand of a little girl standing next to her. Same auburn hair and eyes, but her nose looked like his. She was whispering something to him._

_Papa! Sing with me._

_His voice gone, he looked at Siena helplessly. She smiled and took the little girl with her to the piano forte where two other children were fighting over the keys. One looked tall and older, around ten and the girl was about eight years. The boy looked his spitting image from the paintings he remembered of himself as a child. The same dark curls, austere manner and reserved smile. His sister seemed more openly affectionate and smiled at him with a smile he had only seen on one woman. She was beautiful, just like her mother._

_As they started playing the piano forte and singing along to their favorite song, Siena took the lead and sang first while the rest watched her, transfixed by her captivating voice. They copied her as best as they could when she paused. The little one held her mother’s hand and was twirling her around the room, bursting into a fit of giggles every time she got the words of the song wrong, much to the horror of her elder siblings who were trying their best to please mama._

_Anthony couldn’t help laughing himself at the absurd spectacle. He realized they could finally hear him when Siena looked up and met his eyes. She had that radiant look about her that she reserved for times when she was completely happy, most of them around him. Her eyes would crinkle up on the sides and her cheeks would slightly dimple and she couldn’t stop smiling even if she wanted to. It was intoxicating._

_Before he knew it, he had walked across the room and taken her in his arms, kissing her once and then one more time for good measure. Then bending down he grabbed the little girl who gave an excited squeal. He twirled them both around, one arm carrying his daughter who had burst into a fit of laughter and was telling her siblings she was now taller than them, and in his other arms he held the love of his life. As close as he could._

_He leaned down to give his wife another kiss and instantly heard his eldest groan from his seat while his sister shushed him to not ruin the moment. Their kiss inevitably turned into him and Siena snickering uncontrollably into each other’s mouth. The last thing he heard was his youngest complaining why everyone had started laughing instead of singing and how Papa needed to spin her around faster so she could properly get dizzy._

His eyes opened before he could stop them. As soon as he realized he was waking up, he shut his eyes closed again, tightly.

But their faces were already disappearing and no matter how forcefully he kept his eyes shut he couldn’t hold onto them any more. Siena’s dress with his mother’s tulips, her infectious smile and the laughter and bickering of his children, he wanted to burn that into his memory. He wanted to stay with them forever. Never had he felt this kind of happiness and peace.

He lay in bed for quite some time before he could come to terms with what had happened. Glancing over the other side of the bed, he caressed the pillow that might have belonged to her. The sheets that lied flat and cold, when all he wanted was to see her sprawled under them, beckoning him towards her warmth and love.

Sighing in defeat, he finally got up and got dressed for the day. He had made his choice and he must live with it. She deserved far better than him. Perhaps one day they could both work their way towards a different kind of happiness.

Before he left the room something caught his eye on his bedside table. It was a similar piece of embroidery his mother had shown him the night before. These were the same tulips, maroon and violet... Siena’s. He smiled at the irony. Coincidence or not his mother had decided that if the reminder last night had not been enough, she would have him reminded of his duty as soon as he woke up as well.

The woman was unlikely to give up any time soon. And after Siena, he did not know if he had any strength left in him to fight it.

If he was wise he would let his mother win and chose his bride for him. Let her adorn her with as many tulips as the Modiste carried. Flaunt this supposed symbol of passion to the ton who would believe anything. And show them he was happy, content and molded into the role society had dictated for him.

But he knew the price he would have to pay for that. Every time he would gaze upon a tulip hem on anyone else, it would only bring back the memory of his dream crashing down upon him. And all the warmth and sense of belonging he felt when he was with... _them_. And how he, no matter how much time passed, only cared to see that hem on _her_ and no one else.

_Roses._

Perhaps when it’s time he can convince Mother that a hem of roses will have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments highly appreciated. Would love to hear your thoughts after reading this :)


End file.
